Chapter 1 - The Queen of The DeadMature

            “You could do so much to help society you know.”  It wasn’t a question when Christabel’s mother asked it.  Christabel looked out the window.  Out one prison and into another.  She wanted to say something to her mother, but knew it wouldn’t be worth the effort.  Instead, she would try something else.

            “Bye Mom,” she said, stepping out of the car.

The silence was deafening.  Not even a look back at Christabel, and she knew.  Her mother was angry with her.  Why?  The answer was simple. Christabel Mordsa, had been labeled even before birth.  

Christabel had tried so hard to break that label.  Her purple hair remained over those dark chocolate brown eyes as she walked to the door.  Standing there, she looked back.  The car had disappeared probably as she stepped on the ground.  She stared down at her golden butterfly shirt.  She had chosen it for the black lace backing that covered her shoulders, hiding a green tattoo on her right shoulder.  Too big.  Fuck!  It felt as though she had decided to wear a balloon.  Not like anyone would notice, right?

She walked to her locker, staring at the grating.  Nothing was said as she walked to the cafeteria.  Christabel laughed, remembering the poem she wrote and posted on the elevator door.  Time to see if it was still there,

A long time ago, (in this college a long time was three months ago), she wrote a poem.  Trying to get herself noticed, she had taped it on the inside of the elevator door.  She had no intention of going upstairs, but she had often loved to see the reaction of the riders as they came down.  The elevator closed, and lo and behold it was still there, sprawled in red marker.

“Christabel Mordsa, the queen of the dead

Came to see if anyone cared.

Purple hair enflamed on her head

Be careful, or you might end up without your fucking head!”

            She hadn’t signed it, but then again, she hadn’t known if anyone had used the elevator.  Her question was answered when a tall lanky nerd looking man walked in.  As soon as the door closed he saw the poem, but not before clicking the “1” button.  Turning his head, he let out a gasp, and quickly pressed the button to reopen to him what must have been his coffin.

Christabel grimaced, the kid was probably obsessed with YOLO.  She liked to mess with those folks.  Well, time to put on the act.

She walked forward now, towards him, her eyes staring into his through her hair.  She pinned him against the door, his eyes glaring at her. She giggled, her right hand touching his cheek, whispering in his ear loudly “Well, you only live once, right?  YOLO.”  Her voice was soft, but she pronounced every word slowly, giving the impression she was about to do bad things to him.  He clicked the open door button faster.  It was almost hysterical.  Here he was, tall and normal looking, being against the elevator door staring at her, the self- proclaimed “Queen of Death”

The door opened and the boy ran like he had just gotten shot.


She walked out to the hall, her white laced boots stepping down and making soft noises against the carpeted floor.  Walking to the cafeteria, she turned, and saw no one.  “Quite a joint you got here LCC.”  The sound of her voice dropped as she finished the sentence, head down in a bow.

Her mother had demanded she come here.  For whatever reason, she agreed. Well of course there was a reason.  “It doesn’t matter how old you are Christabel, you are under my roof, my rules.”  Why had she spoken it out like that? “You are” and not “You’re”?  It made more sense like that, at least to me.  And, while we’re talking weird, Christa darling, why’d you write that poem.  ‘Christabel Mordsa the queen of the dead?’  Don’t you want to- “work somewhere else? Somewhere, more fitting for-,"   Her mother had invaded her thoughts once more, dragging her down even in her serenity.

She had enjoyed for the most part where she had worked.  It was a nice gig, although annoying.  “The Trend” in the mall had been the popular place to go to.  Even there though, she had realized, she didn’t fit in with that group of people either.  Everyone was either too annoying or too nice, or too whiny for her to handle.  So where did she fit in?

            Her cell went off  with a woman screaming.   “Falling into the embrace I see her there, long dark flowing hair,” Her mother.  Best not to answer it, she’d likely just complain, but then –  “Her voice, it frightens me-“

“Hey mom,” She tried to be cheery, but failed.

“Did you remember your wallet?”

“Yes mother.”  Her mother was usually like this, always demanding, reminding Christabel of things she had lost.  It became a daily game.  Guess how many times Mom will nag her daughter for things she thinks Christabel lost.  Gee what a grand old time!

“Anything else mom?”

“No. Have a great day!”.  Connection broken. Christabel Mordsa, Queen of Death, grabbed her I-Pod from her jean pocket, hooked it up, put the earbuds that were connected to the laces on the jacket to her ears, and let the music take her away

Standing up, she walked to her first class, and forgot everything.

“I wish I could love her, to be by her side, I wish I stopped loving everyone.  Forget the night.”

When the music finally stopped, eight hours later, Christabel Morsda was walking to her mother’s car.  She didn’t like thinking of “the other prison”, and other than the “YOLO” scare, nothing of interest occurred.  Time for work.


She was never used to the smell of the place.  “The Trend”, was anything but.  Lost in the controller’s trends, you morons pay for the cultural hell we live in.  Unable to be ourselves, we are instead stuck like chickens with their heads cut off, circling the pens.  Welcome to the new age.  She was the only one here, and so she tapped her fingers on the hard wooden counter, starting to headbang.

“I just, wanna be free! YOU FUCKING HYPOCRITES!”  A shadow was in the corner of her eye.

“Lovely speech we’re usin today Christa!”

No motherfucker calls me Christa, bitch!

She wanted to say what she was thinking, but this was the store manager.  Traguard Smiters.  Traguard looked like the type of guy who was a level 50 paladin, hell he looked like the dude she scared in the elevator earlier this morning.  Traguard, named after a semi-famous gameshow host, didn’t like her, mainly for her language.  A lot of people in the lovely Seraphim Fields “community” didn’t like her.

“Opps, I’m sorry Traguard.”  Traguard didn’t like being called Traguard, but he disliked his real name more, because it was nothing normal.  Jeffy Smiters, not Jeff, but Jeffy Smiters, was nicknamed Jiffy, because Christabel had accidently mispronounced it.  So Jiffy Smiters allowed her to call him Traguard, though he had no idea where the name came from.

“You’re short on your register two bucks! Sad, if it gets to five I get to fire ya.”  Christabel blushed, but under the purple hair, Traguard wouldn’t be able to notice, to mock her further.  Some moron scammed her out of two bucks and now, she was paying for his bullshit.  Another day in the life of the Queen of the Dead.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d become that, for real. 

Now however, she let the song she sang take her away from the pains of the day.

  "I just, wanna be free! YOU FUCKING HYPOCRITES.  Free from the prison you built me! I just wanna be me, free, full of life and deciding my fate! Free to be who I am and not who I hate! Come forth to see my passion living in the eyes of another, hopefully soon.  I just wanna be free, alive to you, you, and dead to the world forevermore.  Come forth to see my love, to see my pain.  Scars cover my heart, because no one treats me the same as you do.  Scars cover my heart, because no one sees me as you do.  Hold me like a star, never let me go.  Hold me like the august sunrise that falls too fast.  I, just, wanna be free, free to be me!  They don’t like me they don’t love me they don’t understand! They don’t know me don’t wanna show me that they can be heroes to my heart.  I guess this song is a start, for my heart.  I just, wanna be free! YOU FUCKING HYPOCRITES.  Free from the prison you built me! I just wanna be me, free, full of life and deciding my fate! Free to be who I am and not who I hate! Come forth to see my passion living in the eyes of another, hopefully soon.  I just wanna be free, alive to you, you, and dead to the world forevermore.  Oh how I wish you could see me beyond the heart of my dead eyes, how I wish you can be the one who holds me hand through all the dark and lonely nights.  In darkness’ requiem I just wanna be free to be who I am.  I hope you understand."

The End

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